Let Go
by Arilaen
Summary: Short drabble tag for the end of 6x11. May remain an open-ended one-shot or be extended.


_This is just a drabble for now, trying my hands at this writing thing again..._

_Disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural, etc. etc._

_Tag to 6x11. Only spoilers up till then._

It was an eternity of a half a minute. Dean was about to turn away when the screams died down into low grunts. Death lifted his hands and gave Dean a glance. The look said _Remember what I told you about digging_. And he was gone.

Now it was quiet, save for the heavy breathing coming from the bed. Dean's face lifted in hope, but in the next second it was pulled down by fear and uncertainty. Bobby shifted on his feet behind him.

"Sam? Sammy?" Dean said. The figure on the bed continued breathing heavily, eyes closed. Bobby put a hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean blinked and saw that they were still standing in the doorway, staying away from the _thing_... but now it wasn't a _thing_, it was his brother.

Dean didn't know what to think anymore. Wasn't soulless Sam still a part of Sam? What if... whole Sam hated him after what they had done? What if he didn't totally change back into who he was and turned into something that Dean and Bobby couldn't turn their backs on? Dean despised himself for these thoughts even as they came into his head, despised himself for the fact that he could ever lose faith his own brother after what he had done for them... and then he swiped the moisture away from his face.

No. It was like Death had said. _A soul can be torn, mangled, but it can never be broken. The soul is a precious thing, more precious than you can imagine._

Well, if he hadn't gotten an idea of how damn important a soul was by seeing what its absence could do, he wouldn't have been surprised by that statement. _I've just got to have faith_, he thought. _Faith in my little brother._

He walked forward and reached the table. Sam's eyes were closed, but his breaths were still labored.

"Sammy?"

The breaths turned to low moans, and Sam shifted slightly. As if he was dreaming.

"Bobby, what's he going to remember? Can I take these off?" Dean whispered, his hand in his pocket fingering the handcuff key.

"Go ahead."

Dean had the key in the the right handcuff when Sam stirred more. With a click it gave way, just when Dean saw Sam open his eyes.

"Sammy?" Dean was frozen holding the cuff in one hand and the wrist in the other, mouth hanging open. Sam's eyes weren't fully open, and Dean saw them pause on him, sweep past him and linger before something flashed and they closed again.

"Are you..." Sam suddenly let out a small gasp. And then another. His face scrunched up. He let out a series of exhales with his head rolling slightly forward and backward, almost as if he had a fever.

"Sammy, are you..." Without warning the wrist was whipped from Dean's hand and Sam turned his whole upper body to the other side and threw up.

"Aw, Sammy, here, I've got you." Dean put his hands on Sam's sides for support. Bobby grabbed the keys and undid the other the other right leg as Sam kept heaving, bringing up breakfast and by the looks of it yesterday's dinner as well. Bobby reached over and undid the rest, but when he got to the last hand Sam keeled forward, held back only by Dean's arms. It was minutes before Sam's desperate hurls turned into dry heaves. When it looked like his body... _his body?... _ran out of energy he just stopped, with no movement or effort to right himself, his whole body weight positioned for a nosedive into his own vomit.

_Fucking side effects?_

"Aw, dammit Sammy..." Dean looked at his brother. His eyes were half-opened slits, looking not at him but at the ceiling.

"Sam, look at me." The eyes shifted and took a few seconds before meeting Dean's, and Dean could barely make out their color. They were barely open.

"Sam... I'm sorry but there was nothing else I could do. I've never wanted to see you suffer, and I've always tried to watch out for you. Your soul is part of you, even though it's been in hell. You can't live without feeling, without having real emotions. I hope..." _I hope I'm doing the right thing._

"Your soul," Dean whispered, not sure if Sam was listening, "makes you you. It is you. How could I leave you – who you really are – in Hell if I could help it?"

Sam's eyes fluttered and he leant his head all the way back on the bed.

"Sammy." Dean said, more loudly, but softly. "Are you with me?"

Sam grunted again before letting out a long moan and sitting up, bringing his head into his own shaking arms.

"What's wrong? Tell me."

Then a voice, a whisper. "Can't..." Sam lifted his head. For a moment Dean forgot that his brother had been a six five 27 year old bodybuilding bad-ass. In front of him now were the eyes of Sam over a year ago. The eyes that made him look all of five. And Sam's eyes turned away again, looking behind Dean and Dean saw that he was looking at Bobby, at Bobby's gun to be precise. Then he met Bobby's eyes. His next words were a whisper.

"Please, let me go."

"Sam, we've..." Dean held up the keys and a shackle, raising an eyebrow. Sam pushed himself up to the edge of the bed.

"I was about to..." his eyes flickered down and then back to the old hunter's face. "I know I'm a monster. Do it."


End file.
